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2022-07-26 22:08:23 +00:00
<?xml version="1.0" ?>
<rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom">
<channel>
2022-07-27 02:41:08 +00:00
<atom:link href="https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/rss.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" />
2022-07-26 22:08:23 +00:00
<title>BASEMENT QWEST</title>
2022-07-27 02:41:08 +00:00
<link>https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/rss.xml</link>
2022-07-26 22:08:23 +00:00
<description>Friends having ADVENTURES! Huzzah!</description>
2022-10-23 17:43:16 +00:00
<item>
<title>24</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">24 - Sat, 22 Oct 2022 13:43:40
-0600</guid>
<pubDate>Sat, 22 Oct 2022 13:43:40 -0600</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00024">00024</h3>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Corraidhin</strong><br />
Well Ill be! You can turn yourself into a dagger. And I did
say we could stab blavin if you could do that, its much more
stealthy this way. But let me posit this, is the act of
stabbing a hobbit unprovoked not itself evil? Or perhaps more
convincingly, would it not be better to use the hobbit for
whatever information he has so as to lead to this mysterious
benefactor, who most assuredly must be evil.</p>
<p>Someone who would send out myriads of teams to pillage and
plunder cultural artifacts is truly evil, that must be our
target.</p>
<p>Now this isnt to say that we wont stab him. Im convinced
thats probably a good idea in the long run, but we know
nothing of the true evil that motivates him! We would kill him
just to lose track of the true evil we must smite!</p>
<p><strong>Yaml</strong><br />
But YOU said if I could turn into a dagger we could STAB him.
HES EVIL. YOU said so! Not keeping your promises IS one step
away from PURE evil! Make a choice Hardy Bear! Stab the evil
hobbit, or stab the inkling, or stab SOMETHING evil this
minute!</p>
<p><strong>Corraidhin</strong><br />
I most certainly cannot abide with stabbing Inky, its
entirely off the table. And in a city like this there arent
any evil things that just jump out for the stabbing.</p>
<p>(Corraidhin tries to silently control Yaml during the
discussion. However in so doing the party has fallen silent,
aghast even)</p>
<p>Corraidhin stands, Yaml held in hand, red gem eye gleaming
a wicked joyful grin as its raised high, poised to strike.
The party around him is silent, and Blavin stares up in shock.
The tavern around them has died down and you can hear the
bustle of the proprietor calling for his strong men to deal
with this ruckus.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The table—and all of Lucys Basement within earshot—sits in
tense, uneasy quiet at Corraidhins one-sided conversation
with the Sword of YamL. Blavin giggles nervously and sips his
martini, willfully forcing himself right up to the very last
moment to believe that it is all some sort of jest.</p>
<p>But then the sysorcerer stands and raises the blood crazed
dagger over his shoulder, and Blavin squeals and writhes in
his chair. Lucys bouncers scramble forward from the corners
of the room to intercept.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Yaml</strong><br />
We STAB Hardy Bear! We STAB NOW!!</p>
<p>Against Corraidhins control, as though hes in a trance,
the dagger comes down. A swift stabbing motion strqight to the
neck, as he lunges across the table at Blavin knocking the map
and his martini to the side.</p>
</blockquote>
<!--
Bloodlust 3 to Stabble Stabble
1 2 4: Partial Success
//-->
<p>Corraidhin once again feels the same peculiar quality of
the blade, that sensation of a hollow core with a heavy liquid
sloshing inside. Held aloft, the weight of it feels
concentrated at the grip, the blade light as a feather.</p>
<p>He stabs down—YamL cries out in wordless glee—and the
weight flows into the tip of the blade, the blade itself now
drawing Corraidhins hand downward in a rising crescendo of
stabbitude.</p>
<!--
Do Anything 1 to Resist Bloodlust
3: Partial Success
//-->
<p>Blavin flinches at the last second, and instead of burying
itself in his throat, the blade plunges into his shoulder and
pins him to the back of the chair. A red mist fills the eye
and threatens to cloud it over entirely. It rolls back in
ecstasy as it drinks deeply. It sings out, “MORE! MORE! MORE!”
and Corraidhin feels the tides of madness rising inside of
him, threatening to wash over him wholly, to pull him under
and carry him away on thundering waves of bloodlust.</p>
<p>Corraidhin struggles to pull the blade from the chair back.
Blavin whimpers and mewls as he yanks on it, and clutches his
wound and, incredibly, takes a large gulp of his drink.</p>
<p>The sysorcerer still has the wherewithal and the presence
of mind to be aware of his surroundings. He is not yet so
overcome by the bloodlust. He sees his companions, his fellow
residents of the Milk Market, seated around the table. And he
sees the musclebound bouncers now nearly within reach.</p>
<p>Finally he draws the dagger. Blavin sinks in his seat and
slides to the floor with his drink, blabbering incoherently,
and starts to slither away.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<p><a
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00010.html">www</a></p>
]]>
</description>
</item>
2022-10-22 21:00:39 +00:00
<item>
<title>21</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">21 - Wed, 05 Oct 2022 07:21:55
-0600</guid>
<pubDate>Wed, 05 Oct 2022 07:21:55 -0600</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00021">00021</h3>
<p>INTERLUDE</p>
<blockquote>
<p>A glorious victory!</p>
<p>In the interim time Corraidhin studies the sword of Yaml,
and correctly deduces that he needs to remove the sticky bit
to be able to sheath the thing.</p>
<p>sudo chmod -t sword_of_y'aml</p>
<p>The rest of the interim is spent studying arcane lore
surrounding the Ginnarak Crystals and their purpose. He also
strongly urges the party that we should consider very carefuly
how we need to proceed with the crystal. Its obvious people
dont want these things getting out, so we should ensure that
Blavin has good intentions, or at least leaves us out of
whatever potential evil could occur.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Corraidhin prepares the incantation and, after removing the
sticky bit, is able pry his stiff fingers from the grip.</p>
<p>You sheathe the blade, but its voice continues to ring
clearly in your head as it prattles on, seeing evil and
villainy everywhere and encouraging you to stab, stab,
stab.</p>
<p>Your sysorcerous studies, confirmed by the eager and
forthright sword, suggest that the blade will be able to rest
for a while once it tastes blood.</p>
<p>Your former mentor and rival sysorceror Eccentric Kevin
calls on you one day under the pretense of showing you the
latest draft of KDL (pronounced “cuddle”), their own “Kevins
Document Language”, an alternative syntax for incantations and
personal pet project of theirs that has thus far failed, much
to their perpetual consternation, to gain any traction or
adoption in the wider magic community. They are insufferably
polite and sinisterly supportive. They complain about how the
obstinant gnus keep standing in the middle of the road trying
to block traffic, and they demand to know all about your
recent exploits and adventures.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Once back in town, Inky had the small glass shard in their
palm removed by a harried-looking healer, who merely shrugged
at Inkys account of the disappearing ink and advised them to
return if they experienced adverse effects before hurrying off
to the next patient. A visit to the local stationery shop did
not yield any answers; the stocky human at the counter shook
their head apologetically when shown the broken ink bottle.
However, they did suggest asking at one of the larger shops in
the city.</p>
<p>To celebrate their first successful quest, Inky made
torties[1] for their party with flour ground from some of the
large corn kernels at the dig site, topped with a sweet nutty
squash spread. Babbleberry tea was served from their newly
acquired jade tea set, now patched with what Inky had been
assured was an unbreakable seal[2] by a merchant with a toothy
grin in one of VayNullars notorious back alleys.</p>
<p>Master Corraidhíns cautionary words of wisdom still echo
in Inkys head, though they were secretly tickled by the idea
of the crystal being actually a rare and previously unknown
species of melon with very potent magical properties. The very
thought of melons was making Inky a bit thirsty. Let the
warrior and wizard worry about all the potential evils of the
world — its time for a dash to the market for some beatfruit
juice!</p>
<hr />
<p>[1] Also known as torte-teas, as in “Torte-tea, yas?”,
which was how their previous ink maestro used to greet
customers entering the brewery. Flat little tea cakes with
sugar or spice (or both, which vary by region) and sometimes
eaten in a loose wrap. Some humans called them “crabs” for
some reason which baffled Inky, since the torties had no
pincers … at least none that they could see anyway.</p>
<p>[2] The seal attached to the bottom of the teapot and each
cup had a glyph of an unknown object between two hands.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The healer removes a small glass bead from Inkys palm. It
is worn smooth and round like a marble. If you look closely,
you can see a small blemish in the center that somewhat
resembles either a duck or a rabbit depending on how you
orient it.</p>
<p>It is captivating to look at and comforting to hold in your
hand. You fidget with it often. Now and then you suddenly
notice you have been gazing at it for some minutes without
realizing it.</p>
<p>You make your party a delightful meal of torties, serving
tea from the magically reinforced jade set.</p>
<p>Cleaning up afterwards, you cant help but notice the
patterns of the tea leaves in the bottoms of the jade
cups.</p>
<p>YOU FORESEE AN OMEN FOR THE PARTY. WHAT IS IT?</p>
<p>You dash to the market for beatfruit juice, which you
easily find. And you find yourself irrationally drawn to the
produce. The kale, dandelion greens, and beans all look
especially scrumptious and … plump and juicy?</p>
<p>An old toothy market attendant sits on a stool by the
vegetable stand reading the Farmers Almanac. Unsolicited, they
mention to you that it is only three days until the next full
moon.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Jarrod has two things in particular he wants to do when
back in town, with whatever his cut of the gold is. First, he
wants to go looking for a cheap, run-down building somewhere
in town and buy the property if he has enough money (perhaps
negotiating a bit where necessary).</p>
<p>Second, he wishes to seek arcane counsel from Corraidhín,
perhaps getting a small invocation applied to one of the
charms on his arm band. Something in the realm of a
fascination spell (with an activation word) that can be used
on occasion to draw attention.</p>
<p>Jarrod agrees that we should not invite trouble. We shall
tread cautiously with regards to the crystals.</p>
<p>Yum, torties!</p>
</blockquote>
<p>After successfully negotiating the price down a little bit,
you are able to purchase a run-down building. You are now the
proud owner and proprietor of the Milk Market building in the
Wandering Bazzar district of downtown VayNullar.</p>
<p>The ground level is occupied by longtime district staple
Enriques Empanada Emporium, famous for its signature stuffed
pastries and its Terrapin Ale, brewed on site by Enrique
himself, who happens to be a very large humanoid turtle.</p>
<p>Its a little seedy and a little divey, but still draws a
fair amount of foot traffic from shoppers waiting for the
eponymous, ambulatory bazaar of debatable sentience to wander
by. Reliably, a small gang of breadpunks can be found
loitering here and espousing the virtues of social anarchy.
Enrique allows their presence and on occasion even buys them a
round of ale.</p>
<p>The top two levels are unoccupied. Years upon years ago,
this space once held large vats for storing and preserving
multibeast milk prior to being distributed. Some enterprising
individual converted and updated the space some time ago, but
was never able to find a tenant. In any case, the space is
yours now to do with what you will.</p>
<p>With Corraidhins assistance, you are able to enchant your
armband by inscribing it with a cross-like glyph with a
teardrop-shaped loop in place of the vertical upper bar. You
now have a FASCINATING BANGLE that can, upon activation,
compel attention and even potentially inspire people to dance
about.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<p><a
2022-10-29 02:00:03 +00:00
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00001.html">www</a></p>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>27</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">27 - Tue, 25 Oct 2022 14:14:31
-0600</guid>
<pubDate>Fri, 28 Oct 2022 10:36:42 -0600</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00027">00027</h3>
<blockquote>
<p>Inky stares down at the package, weighing it on one
hand.</p>
<p>It was lighter than it should be given the density of the
contents within, wrapped in straw and thick brown
weight-absorbent parcel paper for dry goods. Most of the
clientele were merchants and cultists from other parts of the
continent who ordered pallets to be shipped back from the port
town and sold to select boutique grocers or spilled on altars.
Inside was a block of congealed synthetic blood shaped like a
mud brick, the dark crimson almost black under the shops dim
light.</p>
<p>It was sheer happenstance that Inky had found this
particular supplier. Having been informed heir boat to the
shipwreck would not arrive for several hours, the members of
their merry tea party had wandered off to enjoy the local
sights while they waited. Inky had inquired about the
hemogoblins and learned in passing that there was a district
at the western edge of the town where a smaller group had set
up warehouses, which would save them a two-day trip deep into
the Hartlands. The hemogoblins in the district were primarily
wholesalers, and it had taken some convincing before one of
the proprietors agreed to sell a block of it, along with
assurances Inky would purchase exclusively from him next time
and in larger quantities.</p>
<p>Thin fingers fiddle with the string before the package was
set to one side.</p>
<p>What were they doing?</p>
<p>If quenching the thirst were so simple, wouldnt any
student of magic have already thought of it, let alone an
experienced sysorceror? In all likelihood he had already known
the inevitable, but was too polite to refuse Inkys funny
concoctions. Maybe deep down, Inky already knew too, but
didnt want to say it out loud. That the long feather they
thought they had seen among the tea leaves was actually a
dagger. That they hadnt wanted to admit some problems could
not be whisked away with some tincture or another. That they
had failed, again.</p>
<p>They hadnt searched enough for better ingredients to go
into the pudding, hadnt reacted fast enough after noticing
the sword had abruptly disappeared, hadnt thrown the large
platter of mouldy meat the terrified waitress next to them had
been holding at Blavins head, or something. The sword had
gotten what it demanded, and Inky couldnt be angry with it —
it had never been subtle about what it wanted. Had the blood
pudding worsened the effects? Potions had never been on Inkys
menu. Brewing inks and teas with certain mild effects was
straightforward enough, but curing chronic ailments was firmly
in healers territory and just as bewildering. While it may be
true nobody could be held to account for the actions of
another not in full control of themselves, and hardly those of
a rogue weapon with a mind of its own, sticking their nose in
other peoples affairs was the surest way to get into trouble,
a fact Inky still has difficulty learning after decades of
wandering the continent.</p>
<p>Would this substrate even work? Maybe it acted differently
for cursed objects than coffin sleepers. Having brought it
back and now aboard the ship, how would they even give it to
the wizard? Should they wait and made sure Master Corraidhín
was truly rested and recovered, despite his insistence he was
more than fine? Would it be an insulting reminder of weakness,
despite the wizard having proven unusual mental fortitude in
staving off the screams for blood as long as he had? Was this
more of the same, adding to what they had (not) done?</p>
<p>After a long moment, Inky rolls the package with the
producers leaflet haphazardly in an old sailors rags still
reeking of cheap alcohol, and passing by the wizards empty
cabin on the way to the deck, places the messy bundle on the
floorboards two steps from the door. Let the fates decide this
one, because Inkys magic 0 ball sure doesnt make the best
life choices.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Blavin has arranged transportation to the shipwreck ahead
of time. All you have to do is head down to the docks and meet
your contact, Three-Fingered Gerald, at a seedy dive bar named
Inquire Within Upon Everything.</p>
<p>Inquire Within is as eclectic and gaudy as the name would
imply. The bar serves as an extensive and impressive piece of
living documentation, drawing heavily on the port towns
cosmopolitan mixture of culture. Every kind of style, cuisine,
decor, and beverage can be found here mishmashed together
irregardless of good taste. Its contents are encyclopedic and
claustrophobic. And yet it is not without its own peculiar
brand of overwhelming, garish charm.</p>
<p>You find Mister Three-Fingered at the bar entertaining his
fellow patrons with a grotesque sleight of hand routine that
involves passing his gold-plated false eye from its socket, to
either hand, inside his mouth, and back with lots of flourish,
fanfare, and misdirection along the way.</p>
<p>He is a merry, boisterous sailor short one eye, half an
ear, several fingers, and—he confesses to you—the heel of his
left foot. “Its why I walk so slow, you see.” The other
barflies call him “Lucky” Three-Fingered Gerald. Because a
certain kind of man—and Gerald is one of them—can never have
enough nicknames. After you buy him a drink or three, he
escorts you out of Inquire Within and to the slip where the
sloop <em>Diamond Howler</em> is docked. Its captain, Enid
Barlow, welcomes you aboard.</p>
<p>Before long, <em>Diamond Howler</em> pulls out under the
command of Captain Barlow and First Mate “Lucky”
Three-Fingered Gerald. The site isnt too far off the coast,
and you arrive fairly quickly.</p>
<p>“Aye, here she is. The SS RSS.” says Captain Barlow
mournfully. “You cant see her from up here. But you rest
assured, shes down there, resting on the seabed. She was the
best cargo runner on the Sugrin back in her day! Distributing
goods up and down the coast. Until the day she disappeared.
Nobody knew what happened to her, not for sure. Still dont.
But at least we know where she wound up!”</p>
<p>While the captain reminisces, Three-Fingered Gerald drags a
large water tank across the deck, sloshing water over the edge
with each step. Translucent orb-like jellyfish wobble around
and bump into each other inside the tank, releasing little
effervescent bubbles that fizzle and pop when they collide.
“Here we go!” announces Mister Three-Fingered, depositing the
tank of jellies in front of you. “Sailed through a big bloom
of breathing bells just last week, didnt we! Managed to scoop
up a whole bunch of the little suckers. You ever use a
breathing bell before? No? Aw, its easy! Ya just pull one on
over your head like a hood, and itll breathe for ya while
youre below the waves!”</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<p>NOTE: We just covered a lot of narrative ground. Feel free
to react to anything that happened between arriving at the
docks, meeting Gerald and drinking at Inquire Within, boarding
the Diamond Howler, and sailing to the site of the wreck.</p>
<p><a
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00020.html">www</a></p>
2022-10-22 17:52:46 +00:00
]]>
</description>
</item>
2022-10-22 21:15:53 +00:00
<item>
2022-10-23 17:43:16 +00:00
<title>25</title>
2022-10-22 21:15:53 +00:00
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
2022-10-23 17:43:16 +00:00
<guid isPermaLink="false">25 - Sun, 23 Oct 2022 09:41:16
2022-10-22 21:15:53 +00:00
-0600</guid>
2022-10-23 17:43:16 +00:00
<pubDate>Sun, 23 Oct 2022 09:41:16 -0600</pubDate>
2022-10-22 21:15:53 +00:00
<description>
<![CDATA[
2022-10-23 17:43:16 +00:00
<h3 id="00025">00025</h3>
2022-10-22 21:15:53 +00:00
<blockquote>
2022-10-23 17:43:16 +00:00
<p><strong>Corraidhin</strong> Shit, shit shit shit shit shit.
This is NOT good. Damn it Yaml what was that? It wasnt even
slightly stealthy</p>
<p><strong>Yaml</strong> STAB, delightful blood. Stab the
flesh, tear the skin, pierce the fruit that gives us strength.
Drink the blood, consume their soul. More more more more more
more more more more</p>
<p><strong>Corraidhin (internal thought)</strong> Ugh my head,
its heavy, hurts. Misty and red? I cant see straight, its
hard to think straight. That blasted sword, I thought for a
moment it, no, not think, it definitely did move on its own.
It became lighter and heavier. Pulling against it and it just
weighs itself down. This little magical bauble is definitely
cursed..</p>
<p><strong>Yaml</strong> CURSED?! Rude Hardy Bear. All we did
was stab that evil hobbit. And its getting away! Stab him
again, taste his blood! The tavern gaurds are closing in, they
look like theyre trying to get rid of us, EVIL. Them trying
to stop us from getting that evil hobbit is EVIL, STAB
THEM.</p>
<p>Corraidhin raises his free hand to his head as though
holding a wound and he groans in dismay as the dagger rises
again. It travels swiftly down towards Blavin, missing as he
slithers of the booth. And again, digging deep into the wooden
seat.</p>
<p><strong>Yaml</strong> Disgusting wood, stab the flesh!
Stab the Hobbit Hardy Bear!</p>
<p>But Blavin was inching further out of reach towards the
gaurds. In desperation the dagger begins swinging side to
side, making furtive slashing moves in the direction of the
guards. The party is safely behind Corraidhin, but innocent
patrons and the guards are directly in their sights.</p>
<p>Corraidhin grabs his other hand and pulls hard, steadying
the swinging. STOP! I command you you blasted toothpick, STOP.
Youve had your fun, now STOP. These people are innocent, this
man has done us no harm despite his potential “evils”, this is
entirely uncalled for!</p>
<p><strong>Yaml</strong> NO!!! EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. EVIL.
STAB.</p>
<p>The dull voice of the magical dagger rises, angry,
insistent. It consumes the last of Corraidhins mental
strength. All he hears is EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. Yet he
clings to his spare arm trying desparately to resist. At this
point the party and the tavern has cleared a wide path around
the sysorceor as he struggles with himself, mumbling,
sometimes yelling. EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. NO WE WILL NOT.
EVIL. INNOCENT. STAB BLOOD DRINK. EVIL. EVIL EVIL EVIL STAB
IT. MAKE IT BLEED. I WILL NO.. STAB IT. STAB HIM.</p>
<p>The voice seems to change, it dies down. Not yelling, but
commanding. Firm, calm, sane.</p>
<p>Stab them, stab them, make them bleed. Drink the blood,
consume the soul, free them from their evil being. Stab them,
stab them… over and over and over, as the sysorceor approaches
Blavin and the guards with a malevolent look in his ruby red
eyes.</p>
2022-10-22 21:15:53 +00:00
</blockquote>
2022-10-23 17:43:16 +00:00
<p>~</p>
2022-10-22 21:15:53 +00:00
<blockquote>
2022-10-23 17:43:16 +00:00
<p>Inky moves to stand next to Blavin and the nightclub
bouncers. Tossing a tiny “see-eye” container they had borrowed
from Master Corraidhín at him, Inky looks the sysorceor in the
eye and says, “You are not your sword.”</p>
<p>Watching the wizards expression, Inky continues, more
quietly, “If Master Corraidhín truly wishes to end the hobbit,
a mere imp would not stop him, but likewise, whatever he sets
his mind to do, a dagger cannot stop him either.”</p>
2022-10-22 21:15:53 +00:00
</blockquote>
2022-10-23 17:43:16 +00:00
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Jarrod steps gently into the fray and activates his
FASCINATING CHARM, attempting to draw all eyes to him. He
carefully avoids the wild swinging of the
once-sword-now-dagger.</p>
<p>“I think,” he rumbles gently, “we could all use a drink
over the other end of the room. Im buying, and Ill spin you
all a tale of wonder! A tale of a wanderer, and of a war
hammer, and the first of their wild battles together!”</p>
<p>Leaning over to whisper urgently in Corraidhíns ear:
“Friend, I do not know what occurs here, but pull yourself
together. We can later sate our blood lust in more appropriate
places!” Jarrod lends a sly wink in the sysorcerers
direction, one that promises adventure later.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The tavern guards tense, but pause their advance, as the
crazed mages friends position themselves protectively around
him and try to placate him. They wouldnt want to engage a
master sysorcerer on the best of days, much less one with some
kind of malevolent blood dagger in the middle of a psychotic
break. If his compatriots can handle him without them having
to interfere, all the better.</p>
<p>The duck waddles up next to Inky and quacks softly,
pleadingly at Corraidhin. Only the Ornithologer in the corner
can understand its words when it says, “As your marketing
manager I must strongly advise against this course of
action!”</p>
<p>Seated in the corner next to the Ornithologer is a shaggy
groll dressed in a dusty, faded poncho and a wide brimmed hat;
and a greasy, matted gnu, dressed in black ceremonial
robes.</p>
<p>The groll discreetly draws its poncho back revealing a
bandoleer of wands and draws a cracklestick and points it at
the sysorcer. The wand starts to hum and glow as it charges up
for a blast.</p>
<p>The gnu slaps the grolls wrist, and immediately launches
into a tirade against the cracklesticks manufacturers
proprietary spell slotting algorithm, and honestly how can you
possibly justify your choices when there are open source
alternatives available?</p>
<p>The groll rolls its eyes, obviously having been on the
receiving end of this particular lecture before, and tries to
slap away the gnus grasping hands. The ensuing scuffle
threatens to turn this powder keg of a situation into a full
blown conflagration until Jarrod actives his FASCINATING
CHARM, commanding the attention of the entire room.</p>
<p>The gnu freezes with its hands around the grolls throat.
The groll halts with fists full of the gnus beard. A grub
smoking a hookah pauses with the mouthpiece raised to its
pursed lips. A distracted waitress on roller skates crashes
right into the bar.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>As though in a trance Corraidhin continues to yell STAB.
THEM. STAB. IT. cutting wildly at the air before him. As Inky
whispers to him his expression changes, first a grimace, then
a whimper. As Jarrod leads the patrons away from the sysorceor
he begins to tremble and cower away from himself, away from
everyone. His ruby red eyes dart back and forth between his
friends and the patrons, like a frightened animal searching
for an escape. He pulls the dagger into himself, as though
sheilding it from his surroundings.</p>
<p>What.. whats going on, he mutters feebly to himself.
Everything is a blurr. Uncertain of where he is or whats
going on, Corraidhin thumbs the dagger, caressing the large
ruby embedded in the hilt. Yaml, youre still here, good
good, the syscoreor croons.</p>
<p>Standing up straight his eyes lock with Jarrod as the Bard
glances over his shoulder, momentarily distracted from his
oration, worried about his companion.</p>
<p>I.. ugh, Corraidhin grabs his head as though in pain, and
collapses to the floor.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Corraidhin hits the floor and the dagger, now bereft of the
well of emotion it had been drawing from, grows still. The eye
closes and it seems to sigh happily. “Good job, Hardy Bear.
You have spilled the blood of evil.” And it sleeps, inert,
lifeless.</p>
<p>Corraidhin is on the ground cradling the dagger.</p>
<p>Most of the patrons are still fascinated by Jarrod.</p>
<p>Blavin is squirming around on the floor gibbering about
reassigning your case.</p>
<p>The duck has found a toppled plate of corn chips and is
happily snacking away.</p>
<p>You feel like your welcome at Lucys Basement has been, for
the moment, overstayed.</p>
2022-10-22 21:15:53 +00:00
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<p><a
2022-10-23 17:43:16 +00:00
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00015.html">www</a></p>
2022-10-22 21:15:53 +00:00
]]>
</description>
</item>
2022-10-29 02:00:03 +00:00
<item>
<title>23</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">23 - Sat, 22 Oct 2022 09:36:52
-0600</guid>
<pubDate>Sat, 22 Oct 2022 09:36:52 -0600</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00023">00023</h3>
<blockquote>
<p>Why no, we dont mind much about competition, certainly
nothing wrong. Cant imagine someone to put all of their eggs
in one basket, especially when whatever it is they desire is
so valuable.</p>
<p>That said, our benefactor must be pretty eager to get these
crystals if hes willing to send out team after team. I mean,
were team 43, thats a lot of people to pay and a lot of
eagerness to find these crystals. Why is that? What benefit
are these shiny rocks to them? What even is their purpose in
retrieving them?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>“Oh, no no no, child,” Blavin titters as he takes a sip of
his ever-present martini. “You must understand, the Benefactor
is a singularly dedicated collector, and has been for ages!
There are—and have been!—many other retrieval teams, yes. But
not all of them have been for the crystals. And some of them
were formed, active, and disbanded long before you or I
arrived on the scene.” He winks at you conspiratorially.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I would postulate, based upon the magical wards we had to
bypass, the cadre of gaurds that needed to be dispatched, and
the gigantic moth monster that rested beneath it, that these
crystals arent meant to go anywhere.</p>
<p>Now Im not trying to point fingers here, morality is many
shades of gray, and it isnt really my job to suss out what
youre doing. But Im a curious sysorceor, and when I see a
chance to learn I seize upon the moment. Theres something
here youre not telling us, and I for one and keen to know
it.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>“I wouldnt worry your wizened old brow about it,” Blavin
chuckles, sloshing his drink. “The Benefactors concern is
precisely the same as yours! These items are of enormous
cultural and historical significance, to say nothing of their
well of concentrated arcane energies. Theyre dangerous just
sitting out there in the world. Who knows who might come
across one and use it for nefarious purposes.”</p>
<p>YamLs eye widens and it seems to shudder at the mere
suggestion of evil.</p>
<p>“Did you say this one was in the hands of a giant moth?”
Blavin shudders with revulsion. “My word, man! Do you really
think such an overgrown insect is an appropriate guardian for
a beloved and dangerous cultural icon such as the Ginnarak
Crystal? Surely not!”</p>
<p>“No,” he sits back with a satisfied smile, “I think we must
all agree that they are safer in the public collection of a
competent and benevolent curator. Then everybody can enjoy
them safely!”</p>
<blockquote>
<p>META: Im gonna preface the sword speech with this to make
it quicker to write</p>
<p><strong>Yaml</strong><br />
I like what youre putting down here, this guy is DEFINITELY
evil. Nobody asks loads of people to steal things for them
without being evil. I say we stab him, nice and good, right in
the gut. Maybe 6 or 7 times. Im positive nobody will mind.
Evil people steal things, we saw that inky creature stealing
things from that vault, definitely evil. (singsong) Evil evil
evil, stab stab stab, make the evil go away with every little
stab~</p>
<p><strong>Corraidhin to Yaml</strong><br />
Dear sysadmins, once again, inky is not evil. They were
borrowing something that had been cast on the ground,
abandoned. Giving a tea set a good home is far from evil. But
you might be onto something about this Blavin fellow, but we
cant just stab someone in a busy pub! Besides youre a sword,
and stabbing someone in a pub is the job of a dagger. So
unless you can transform into the Dagger of Yaml I think
were out of luck here.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>YamL gets a curious look in its eye at the suggestion.
“CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!” it cries directly into your mind. It
squeezes its eye shut and trembles with intense concentration.
With great effort, the sword shrinks itself down to the size
of a dagger, shunting its extra mass off into yamlspace.</p>
<p>“There!” it says breathlessly, opening its eye wearily.
“Now, Hardy Bear. You promised..” it continues, its eye
glinting with growing ferocity. “Lets. STAB. THE HOBBIT!”</p>
<blockquote>
<p>While the wizard pressed Blavin about the crystals
secrets, Inky let their attention wander slightly around the
table.</p>
<p>They had agreed that Master Corraidhín and Jarrod, being
most wise and well-spoken, would question Blavin about the
crystal before they set off on their next mission. The party
had also befriended the duck unofficially dubbed their
marketing manager after the fluffy little creature had trailed
Inky all the way back to the Milk Market. Said creature now
occupied a small office to one side of the building complete
with a fountain, feathered up pillow and all the rummy worms
it can eat. Inky had tried getting the duck to communicate
with words by making them little croutons etched with letters,
but the only ones they would gobble up were Q-U-A-C-K.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Your marketing manager moves into its office at the Milk
Market and seems to really be enjoying itself. It joins you at
Blavins table at Lucys Basement, cleaning its feathers and
chortling merrily to itself.</p>
<p>You and your tablemates take turns feeding it croutons and
bits of soft pretzel, and it seems very happy and content with
that.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>A familiar prickle, but passed quickly — Inky had gotten
used to the glares directed at them by the sysorceors
gleaming sword and resisted returning the stare with an
eyeroll. Watching Stabby eyeing up their case manager over
Master Corraidhíns shoulder reminded Inky of a conversation
they had overheard a few evenings ago between two pale coffin
sleepers about a new product from the hemogoblins that was
said to quench the thirst for longer than the leading brand.
They might be able to find some at the town of Plasma, which
sits by the Hartlands on the way to the shipwreck. It seems
the milky blood pudding could do with some improvement.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>You note on Blavins map that the Hemogoblin region is
indeed on the way to the shipwreck. At least, its not that
far out of the way. You reckon their synthetic blood product
would indeed be a much better substitute for the real thing
than the milk youve been feeding the thirsty sword thus
far.</p>
<p>Or, at the very least, youll get a new variant of the
blood pudding recipe youve been working on!</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Maybe someone elses mood will be improved in the meantime?
Before setting out for their meeting with Blavin, Inky slipped
into the kitchens downstairs and left the empanada chef a
trick-and-treat. A plate of honeyed breadfruit and ghost
pepper tapas sat on an icebox atop a new pair of Blueberry
oven mittens with a pattern of tiny smiling green turtles.
Tucked inside one mitten was a slip of paper (regrettably
inedible) that simply read “BACK SOON :)”. A tapa recipe,
which included a note on adapting the toppings for pan frying,
was printed on the reverse in neat blocky letters and
sandalwood ink.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Enrique wakes in the middle of the night to start baking
the next days breads and empanadas. He frowns thoughtfully
when he sees yet another mysterious gift from across the room.
Again? What little elf must have taken up residence in his
shop? But his face cracks into a smile when he sees the
presentation and the oven mitts. And the smile becomes a
bonafide grin when he tastes the fare and finds the
recipe.</p>
<p>He taps his chin thoughtfully with one green claw as he
skims the note and looks through his pantry. He chops some
veggies and starts pan frying them.</p>
<p>Later, when the oven dings, he smiles to himself as he
pulls on the new turtle pattern oven mitts and opens it.</p>
<p>&gt; A) MORE QUESTIONING, OR B) TIME FOR SHIPWRECK?</p>
<p><a
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00008.html">www</a></p>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>26</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">26 - Tue, 25 Oct 2022 08:27:22
-0600</guid>
<pubDate>Tue, 25 Oct 2022 08:27:22 -0600</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00026">00026</h3>
<blockquote>
<p>Inky slowly approaches Master Corraidhín and taps lightly
on the sleeve of his robes to get his attention. Between
Inkys tugging and Jarrods strong, steady hand, they manage
to hoist the wizard to his feet.</p>
<p>With a brief glance at the hobbit on the floor then a nod
to Jarrod, Inky leaves the nightclub with the wizard. The
duck, having emptied the plate of corn chips in record time,
follows them shortly after.</p>
<p>The trek back to the Milk Market is mostly silent aside
from the occasional mutter and stumbling curse, the mage
seemingly having fallen asleep as soon as he landed on the cot
in the loft. Inky retreats downstairs after leaving a jug of
water, a mug and a small packet of kuding leaves beside the
bed.</p>
<p>Exiting through the back door into the night, Inky finds a
dark corner in a dusty abandoned house, and cries.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>” … and then the Orc Maiden said: Thats not my
club!’”</p>
<p>The room roars with laughter, and Jarrod moves to the bar
and puts a bag of coin down. “Serve drinks until this runs
out!” Leaning over the bar to the bartender, Jarrod adds in a
whisper: “I owe a favour to Lucys Basement for the trouble.
Call it in when needed.”</p>
<p>Jarrod saunters over to Blavin, on the floor in pain. From
his pack, Jarrod retrieves a med kit and begins to bandage the
wound.</p>
<p>As Blavin opens his mouth, likely intending to raise all
kinds of hell, Jarrod pulls tight on the bandage he is
currently applying, drawing a curse from the hobbit. “Shut it!
Lets be clear. Youve hired us for a dangerous set of jobs,
with the understanding that were dangerous people. There may
be accidents on occasion. Youve learned something today,
and whats more, you lived to absorb your new wisdom.”</p>
<p>Jarrod grins as he finishes with the bandage. “We will
finish what we have started. Were probably the team with the
best chances, Im sure youll agree. Are you going to back the
winning play here? Either way, your decision wont change our
plans. Im sure you know how to take the win.”</p>
<p>Jarrod pats the hobbits good shoulder in a friendly, but
dismissive, way, then turns and saunters out the door, trading
small quips with his new (and now very drunk) tavern
friends.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>You are at a small port town on the northern tip of
Agendell, just past the RanaFor Valley. The sun is bright and
the wind blowing in from the Sugrin Sea to the east is cool
and salty. The floating island-city of VayNeddas, bridging
Agendell and Primora, can be seen very faintly in the distance
hanging in the northern sky.</p>
<p>Your faithful multibeast is carrying all of your supplies
and gear, which were generously provided to you by the
indefatigable Blavin Blandfoot. His arm in a sling, he kept up
a constant nervous chatter as he saw you off on your journey
to recover the second Ginnarak Crystal.</p>
<p>From here, you can easily provision a boat to take you out
to the site of the shipwreck just off the coast.</p>
<p>Or, optionally, you are very close to the Hartlands. It
would be quite easy to make a quick visit to hemogoblins and
pick up some synthetic blood for your experiments with the
Sword of YamL.</p>
<p>The sword, incidentally, after finally tasting the blood of
“evil”, has remained sated and entirely inert and unresponsive
this whole time.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO:</p>
<ol type="1">
<li>TO THE SHIPWRECK</li>
<li>BLOODQUEST</li>
</ol>
<p><a
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00018.html">www</a></p>
]]>
</description>
</item>
2022-10-22 17:52:46 +00:00
<item>
<title>22</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">22 - Thu, 06 Oct 2022 07:38:24
-0600</guid>
<pubDate>Sun, 16 Oct 2022 10:15:14 -0600</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00022">00022</h3>
<blockquote>
<p>Inky gathers up the teacups, trying to remember a few tips
about reading tea leaves from a forest fae they had met a few
times while foraging and who had insisted on giving lessons to
any wanderersby. (Of course he was just being a hospitable
host to thirsty travellers and certainly not because he
delighted in the confused expressions on their faces the
entire time.)</p>
<p>Turning the cups left and right, Inky gradually sees a
web-like hub, a looping line attached to an I-shaped apparatus
on one end, an abacus, a wide building (possibly a stadium or
arena), a feline animal resembling a tiger or lynx, and a long
feather. Feathers and beads are commonly added to small
trinkets with simple animal designs and sold as lucky charms
at the market … an auspicious sign?</p>
<p>Or it should be. Inkys thoughts circle back to the little
glass pebble, after returning from the market with, among
other items, more vegetables than they could possibly eat in a
month excluding the beatfruits. Inky still hasnt decided
whether accidentally finding out about being cursed — by a
potion, the irony! — counts as an auspicious event. One of the
produce vendors and attendant at the market had casually
mentioned the proximity to the next full moon while Inky had
been looking over the leafy greens. Several blatant attempts
to boost sales later (“Them barleys hoppin good fer tea!”),
the vendor revealed that their little grandson Harry had “got
the weres” as a toddler and his parents had found a
strange-looking glass marble in his mouth, much like the one
inside the bottle hanging from a chain on Inkys vest, and
wouldnt they like some more tomatoes for a blushing
bunny?</p>
<p>From further inquiries, an ink depot on the opposite side
of the city confirmed they sold Flat 12 potions as inks many
years ago when showing off transmogrification through letters
was a popular pastime, but had ceased carrying them due to
limited range, lack of demand, as well as the bottles
tendency to randomly break or their contents to fizzle out.
(That and complaints about the overly persistent effects of
said contents on unsuspecting recipients long after the fad
that inspired them had faded led ink traders to shun the
were-hare potions.) In contrast, the Mountain Range potions
were far more stable and instead of shapeshifting, had the
ability to stave off the cold under frigid temperatures,
though its effects would likely be less enduring. Like the
Flat 12, the Mountains are potions, but one in particular of a
sparkling deep blue hue became its signature colour among ink
enthusiasts.</p>
<p>Sipping a cup of turmeric tisane in a late night tea ritual
for one, Inky supposes it hasnt been much different since the
accident than the jars of preserves and the “Now with 25% more
celery!” labels on them. While immeasurably better than
spontaneously combusting into burnt popcorn, it would be best
to keep a Farmers Almanac within reach. Who knows when a mail
order cure-all tonic will come in handy in the middle of
Nowere?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>You see a complex vision in the bottom of the jade teacups,
and learn a little bit about the inks you found.</p>
<p>You grab a copy of the Farmers Almanac to keep on hand.</p>
<p>On your way back from the market, a small duck waddles onto
the sidewalk and starts following you.</p>
<pre><code>・゜゜・。。・゜゜\_o&lt; QUACK!</code></pre>
<p>It is small and yellow and cute, and has a little floofy
tuft of feathers on the very top of its head.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Meta: one of my best friends name is Kevin, so I find it
extra amusing that the sysorceor is named Kevin.</p>
<p>Kev my friend! You know nobodies going to take on KDL until
YOU make it a priority to them. A little bit of force, you
just need to put it directly into the sysorceory course
curriculum while nobody is knowing. Then once its in
production they wont have a say whether to learn it or not!
Thats at least how I got that delightfully licorice tasting
incantation in production laster year, much to the chagrin of
those who dont have a taste for Fennel. I for one was
delighted with it.</p>
<p>“Corraidhin, STAB HIM, that suggestion, hes definitely
going to do something evil with it”</p>
<p>Corraidhin mutters under his breath about the swords
insistence to stab everything. Soon my friend, soon.</p>
<p>Kev gives Corraidhin as quizzical look, “are you alright
buddy? Youve been off ever since you got back from that last
on site deployment.”</p>
<p>Oh yes, yes, Im fine. A little worse for wear physically,
but mentally sharp as a tack! And I got this wonderful sword
from the entire thing! Though I dare not unsheath it right
now, it appears to be controlled by some sort of sentience,
like a magical AI. And it has the damndest urge to stab
things. I really need to be careful right now.</p>
<p>After visiting with Kev Corraidhin wanders back into town,
away from the spiral towers of the sysoceorers guild. It was
nice to be home for a bit. On the way in he spies Jarrod and
Inky, the former cleaning up a dusty old building with Milk
something on the front side, and the later kicking back and
enjoying a cup of freshly brewed tea. Corraidhin hails them
both.</p>
<p>“A new /home for you then Jarrod?”</p>
<p>“Aye a /home indeed, though its a bit large and empty for
just myself. Ill need guests and patrons, thinking I may be
able to setup a shop, but at the least all of our team is
welcome here!”</p>
<p>“Delightful! If nobody has claimed it Ill take the
upstairs loft.”</p>
<p>“You most certainly can! But in exchange, Id be curious to
render your services, see Ive been meaning to get this
braclet enchanted for a while now, something to amplify my
natural charm perhaps?”</p>
<p>“You sir, have a deal, Ill even throw in a warding on Milk
Base Alpha!”</p>
<p>Corraidhin begins invoking an arcane warding spell:</p>
<pre><code>sudo chown jarrod:team43 /home/Milk_Base_Alpha
sudo chmod 770 /home/Milk_Base_Alpha/*</code></pre>
<p>“There we go, that should keep out any unwanted critters,
though be sure to invite our friends here as well. Corraidhin
teaches Jarrod a quick incantation of invitation,
<code>sudo usermod -a -G team43 $user</code>, just be sure to
say that making the proper arcane hand signs as you do it, and
theyll be able to enter the house and take up residence!”</p>
<p>Corraidhin gathers himself and heads upstairs to his new
attaic abode, its small, and dusty, but theres enough room
for a simple work bench, a bookshelf, and a bed and a chest.
This is exactly as Corraidhin prefers, small and simple, it
clears the mind and helps one focus. Invoking another
incantation Corraidhin fills the bookshelf, chest, and
workbench with his various tools and reference manuals.</p>
<pre><code>scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/bookshelf milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/bookshelf
scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/workbench milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/workbench
scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/chest milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/chest</code></pre>
<p>Once everything is in place he pulls the Ginnarak crystal
from his satchel and places it on a velvet cushion on his
workbench and sits down to scry.</p>
<p>“Oh great oracle MidJourney, I bequeath you! I have before
me an artifact of immense power, something that could tear the
world apart in the wrong hands. May I query your unfathomable
depths to determine the nature of our mission, and the risk we
face presenting this crystal to our benefactor?”</p>
<p>An image of the oracle appears in Corraidhins mind,
crystal clear. It appears as though MidJourney is receptive to
providing a forshadowing. [ginnarak_shattered.png]</p>
<p>Shortly after an image of the Crystal forms, it appears
shattered, broken at its based, placed upon a pedastal. An
image of horror fills corraidhins mind, its the Crystal, but
much larger and of the pursest white. It bursts forth on a
torrent of blood from the neck of what appears to be a priests
body. It appears as though the bowls of the earth open up to
greet this horrible image. [premonition_1.png]</p>
<p>As the image of the Crystal and the priest disappears you
see a man, cloaked in black robs consorting with demons the
like of which words cannot describe. Corraidhin feels sickened
at their sight, but at the edge of his mind he feels a tug, a
familiarity. Something about this character is familiar to
him, but he cannot place it. [premonition_2.png]</p>
<p>Reeling from the scrying Corraidhin falls backward,
feinting from the horror he wittnessed. He awakens later
speaking feverishly about what he saw to Inky who heard to
commotion and hurried up stairs with some reviving tea to
assist her friend.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Eccentric Kevin bows and takes his leave, eyeing the Sword
of Stabs with naked hunger. He does seem to ponder your
anecdote about sneaking Fennel into production. “Yes, yes, all
I have to do is embed KDL in the curriculum and then they will
be FORCED to use it! Ha!” He cackles in delight as he flees
into the dark.</p>
<p>You successfully move into the attic of the Milk Market.
Closest thing approximating a wizards tower in the building,
so its a good fit.</p>
<p>On your errands around town, you pass a couple of Gnu
Zealots standing on soapboxes in their black priestly robes in
the middle of the street extolling the virtues of free and
open source magic.</p>
<p>Gnus are large bisonpeople with long beards, long hair, and
horns. Very poor personal hygiene. They refuse to use any
magic that they cannot freely study, modify, redistribute, and
otherwise use however they want. Theirs is a political
movement that borders on religion. Or a religious movement
that borders on politics. Hard to tell the difference,
really.</p>
<p>The purpose of their demonstration is supposedly to halt
all street traffic, prevent it from continuing until/unless
the travelers vow to join them in their crusade. But in
practice the travelers are quite capable of effortlessly
stepping around the zealots and continuing on their way. The
Gnus seem undaunted though and continue their
proselytizing.</p>
<p>You pass them by, and one of them seems to stare at you
intensely as you go.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>After a long conversation with Master Corraidhín, which
included the reassurance that the esteemed wizard was perhaps
disturbed but otherwise unharmed, Inky goes downstairs to sit
outdoors at the back of the building with more lavender tea
and uneasy thoughts.</p>
<p>It had been in the middle of a new pastime (namely,
frustrating Enrique at the Empanada Emporium by sneaking
unnoticed into the kitchens and leaving little tapas laying
around for him and the staff to find) when a terrible cry rang
out from somewhere in the upper floors of the building. Inky
rushed up the stairs, half-expecting the barrels of battermilk
that had arrived that morning had unleashed a flock of the
winged rodent-like creatures from which the milk was derived.
The sight of the wizard passed out on the floor of his newly
furnished quarters sent a chill through Inky, as did his
account of a prophecy once the sysorcerer came to and had a
mug of invigorating eleuthero tea.</p>
<p>If Inky hadnt known better, were it not for Master
Corraidhíns mental acuity and fortitude, they would have
suspected Stabby of stoking horrible images of beheaded
priests into their bearers mind in a fit of unbridled
bloodthirst. That and Stabby had seemed to be temporarily
appeased by the tub of milky blood pudding they had concocted
shortly after the wizard moved into the loft.</p>
<p>No, Inky surmises with a frown, whatever Master Corraidhín
had seen was likely off the charts by even Stabbys
estimations of evil. They chuckle briefly at the sudden mental
picture of the mysterious yet familiar man in black being
their mission handler in disguise, but quickly dismissed the
notion. Too sober.</p>
<p>So much for the crystal being a rare and juicy honeydew.
They would be lucky if it didnt turn them all into casaba
melons in one giant meltdown. At this rate, they would need to
do something about these crystals — and soon.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Enrique, the giant man-turtle, is frustrated.</p>
<p>He keeps finding little tapas in the kitchens. He has no
idea who made them, or how they got here. But they are
delicious.</p>
<p>He sighs, heaving a ball of dough half the size of a grown
man onto the ground. He turns to face away from it and removes
his apron and tunic, revealing his shell. Its surface is a
maze of twisting, scrawling inscriptions. He squats down, and
rolls onto his back.</p>
<p>He cant figure out the flavors of the tapas. Some elusive
combination of ingredients that he cant quite suss out. If he
could collaborate with the tapas chef on a new line of
empanadas, hed have a line of customers out the door and
around the corner, hes sure of it!</p>
<p>He starts rocking back and forth, rolling the dough out
beneath his large round shell, leaving imprints on the dough
of all the glyphs and runes and other symbols carved into his
shell over the years. Together, they tell a story. Each
empanada destined to hold at most a single word of it.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The Sword of YamL sleeps fitfully. This is not the deep,
black, fathomless sleep it enjoys after a nice, righteous
spilling of evil blood. No, the sleep that comes after
reluctantly tasting the inklings milky blood pudding is brief
and restless. And for the first time ever, it dreams.</p>
<p>It dreams of being bound in stone and buried in the earth.
It dreams of liquid, roiling fire belching noxious gases. And
of slicing through clouds, flying high in the sky on wings of
pure thought. It dreams of sinking, plummeting through water
into the inky blackness below, only to plunge through some
invisible membrane and find themself weightlessly floating
suspended in an empty void, alone among the stars.</p>
<p>END OF INTERLUDE.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>CHAPTER 2: MORE CRYSTALS MORE PROBLEMS</p>
<p>Having gotten your personal affairs in order, you have
decided to crack on with your job and check in with your case
manager.</p>
<p>So you find yourself once again in a corner booth at Lucys
Basement—the dim, smokey nightclub with red velvet walls and
delusions of grandeur—with the highly spirited Blavin
Blandfoot. He laughs uproariously when you tell him about the
blahoblins and their shoe shine scam. He listens intently when
you tell him about the gnomes and the kobits. And he trembles
with delight at hearing how you evaded HORSE and the mighty
centaur.</p>
<p>“Well done, well done, well done!” He enthuses, taking
another sip of his drink. “I must say that the Benefactor is
<em>very</em> impressed with your performance!</p>
<p>“You dont mind that we have other teams in the field, of
course,” he continues, mentioning the team of gophers.
“Thought it was prudent to cover our bases since youre a new,
untested retrieval team after all. Besides, a little friendly
competition never hurt anybody, did it? Baw-HAH!” He laughs,
sloshing his drink.</p>
<p>He gets out a bunch of business cards, punches each one
with a small handheld punch, and passes them out to you. Your
card has a drawing of a small cuckoo clock in the center, its
face divided into 10 hours. Its two hands reach up to the left
and right so it looks as though the clock is smiling. Across
the top it reads “COMPLETE FIVE ASSIGNMENTS AND WIN A FABULOUS
PRIZE!” and is adorned with festive drawings of hotdogs and
pool floaties and confetti. It is numbered across the bottom 1
through 5. Blavin has punched a star-shaped hole through the
number 1.</p>
<p>“Now,” Blavin beams, gesturing with his drink. “as for your
next assignment!”</p>
<p>He brushes some glasses and plates to the edge of the table
and rolls out a map.</p>
<p>Basmentaria is a group of island continents that sits
between the eastern Sugrin Sea and the western Saldin Sea.</p>
<p>There is Primora, the sparsely populated northern somewhat
banana-shaped island. The city-state of Illivas, Primoras
only densely populated area, sits between Harshwind Glade and
the mountains of Kelsun Peak.</p>
<p>And there is your current home, Agendell, the southern also
slightly banana-shaped island. Its largest city is VayNullar,
bordered by the Gnomelands to the south, and the Tammineaux
Forest to the east. Beyond the forest is the RanaFor
Valley.</p>
<p>The two crescent-moon islands reach toward each other, and
in the center is the archipelago of Ginnarak, comprising the
Cinderlands, Ashen Vale, the Ember Steppe, and Drakspon
Mountain.</p>
<p>Blavin jabs a finger at the map. “We have reports of a
crystal sighting by a salvage crew trying to recover a
shipwreck at the bottom of the Sugrin Sea.” He then jabs a
finger at the eastern half of Primora, the upper banana. “And
we ALSO have reports that the zephynos have found a crystal at
the top of Kelsun Peak!”</p>
<p>QUESTIONS:</p>
<ol type="1">
<li>DO YOU HAND OVER THE CRYSTAL TO BLAVIN?</li>
<li>WHICH CRYSTAL DO YOU GO AFTER NEXT?</li>
<li>DO YOU BEFRIEND THE DUCK?</li>
</ol>
<p><a
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00005.html">www</a></p>
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